Stay With Me
by MintSauce
Summary: Requested by hoboswearplaid on Tumblr. The thought of expressing feelings makes Mickey feel sick, but not nearly as sick as the thought of Ian leaving for WestPoint makes him. Rated M for Mickey's charming language. One-Shot.


Mickey chewed his bottom lip and stared across the street at the Kash and Grab. He wasn't hiding, he was just tactfully standing behind a large vehicle and occasionally glancing through the glass at the store. But he definitely wasn't hiding, no chance. He spat on the floor and lit up another cigarette, sucking on it almost to the point of desperation.

The whole situation was fucking stupid, Mickey knew that. It was just stupid.

He'd made a point after getting out of Juvie a few weeks ago to not see Ian Gallagher. Or maybe avoid would be a better word, because he'd seen him plenty of times. Mickey had just chosen to quite smartly – if he didn't say so himself – hide himself from view. They hadn't spoken, hadn't had eye contact, hadn't breathed the same air. The one time Gallagher had been in his house, Mickey had climbed out of the bathroom window, which wasn't cowardice, it was just avoiding unnecessary awkwardness. That was what he told himself anyway. And he was going to stick with that.

As far as he was concerned it was completely fine with him that Gallagher hadn't tried to seek him out either. He didn't think the guy was actively trying to avoid him like Mickey was doing in return, but he hadn't come to find him. And that was fine by Mickey, that was completely fine. Because Mickey didn't need to have some bullshit conversation about anything, he didn't need to even look at Ian Gallagher. Not. At. All.

So the situation they had going on, that was fine. It was completely, fucking fine.

Mickey wondered if he kept repeating that to himself, would he eventually start to actually believe it?

The situation though had spiralled out of control, like a lot of things starring Ian Gallagher. It had all become completely fucked. And why? Because Mickey had had to walk in on his sister crying her bloody eyes out the night before, all because of Ian Gallagher. And most of the time, Mickey wouldn't give a shit about anybody crying. Hell, he'd laugh at them actually, but this was Mandy and she was his baby sister. Also, it wasn't like he fucking knew it was going to be about Gallagher when he'd asked her what was wrong. Not really. He'd had a little bit of an inkling, but not a fully formed conclusion. He'd thought maybe it had something to do with the other Gallagher, Lip.

It didn't.

No, his sister was sitting on their couch with a box of cereal tucked under her arm trying to make herself feel better in the most fucked up way possible, because Ian Gallagher was off to join the fucking army. Like they hadn't known that was coming. Like it wasn't all he'd talked about for ages, like they didn't all know that he was going to get out and go to WestPoint and get his ass blown off in some foreign country no doubt ending in –stan. They all knew that, so why the fuck did it have to come as a surprise to his sister?

Why the fuck did it have to come as a surprise to him?

Maybe because he'd been so busy trying to avoid Ian Gallagher that he hadn't really thought about much else to do with the kid. Okay, admittedly he'd thought about his cock rather a lot, his mouth a handful of times and the wide-eyed look he'd sometimes get once or twice; but he hadn't been thinking about Gallagher's actual words.

He listened, Mickey didn't know why, but he'd always fucking listened. So it wasn't like he'd not known that Ian was planning on running off and being an officer in the goddamned army. He just hadn't thought about it recently. It'd slipped his mind was all.

And because everything was fucked up, his brain decided it was a good idea to make up for all the hours not spent thinking about Ian's leaving and spent the night after Mandy told him that Gallagher was leaving in two weeks doing nothing _but_ thinking about it. And it was stupid, he smoked two packets of cigarettes far too fucking quickly, only fell asleep when he was high off his ass and woke up feeling like someone had hit him with a truck. But that last part probably had more to do with the fact he'd spent the whole time he was asleep dreaming about Gallagher getting his ass shot off too far away for Mickey to be able to help him.

So now Mickey was standing outside the Kash and Grab, running on a mouthful of vodka, some eggs Mandy had cooked that had tasted like crap, a whole lot of nicotine and only a few hours sleep. Standing there, he told himself that the only reason he was there was because he was being selfless. He was going to be a good brother to Mandy and stop her fucking heart from being broken by Gallagher leaving and he was going to be a good Samaritan for once and he was going to save Gallagher from his own fucking fate. That was the only reason Mickey was there, to help out other people.

It wasn't to be completely fucking selfish because the feelings churning in the pit of his stomach were threatening to make him feel sick. And unfortunately, he couldn't pass those feelings off as being down to dodgy eggs or drinking vodka too early in the day, because they'd been there since the moment that he'd seen Mandy crying. Or maybe they'd been there since the moment he first fucked the stupid redhead. _Who knew_?

All that Mickey knew anymore was that this was all so completely fucked up, it was unreal.

He spat on the ground and flipped off a car that had to brake suddenly when he crossed the road. The driver leant out the window to swear at him, but he didn't even hear the words or the voice really. He couldn't hear anything over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He thought he was going to be fucking sick; but that would have been really fucking gay and Mickey wasn't any sort of coward either.

He knew Ian was behind the counter when he walked in, but he couldn't bring himself to look at him. He didn't have the courage. So all he did was wander down one of the isles and pinch himself hard on the arm when Ian couldn't see him, just to try and wake himself up. He felt like an idiot, but he would have looked stupid if he just walked straight out again, so Mickey scrubbed a hand through his hair, blinked a few times and grabbed a drink without looking from one of the fridges.

He stood in front of Ian and finally looked up to meet his eyes. And Mickey had never felt as small as he did in that moment. Because Gallagher had packed on some more muscle, his hair was still short and fucking hot and even sitting down Mickey could tell the fucker had grown another few inches. Ian didn't say anything, which was a new one, he just stared right back at Mickey and that feeling of needing to be sick that had gone when Mickey had pinched himself came back full force. He didn't want to do this. He didn't know _how_ to do this. And that just made it all the more stupid.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw himself reach out and grab a few Snickers Bars, putting them on the counter next to the drink. What he definitely didn't miss was the way that Ian's mouth twitched up into a smile ever so slightly before his features smoothed out again. Ian was good at the silent treatment, Mickey already knew that from when Ian had told him what had happened with Lip. Difference was, Mickey wasn't the type to throw fruit, because he had much heavier ammunition than that.

"You made Mandy cry," he said bluntly and Ian blinked, surprise completely taking over his expression. He hadn't expected Mickey to say that. He probably hadn't expected Mickey to say anything at all.

And admittedly, Mickey never was usually the one to speak first, he guessed it was sort of understandable.

"What? Why?" Ian really didn't look like he had a clue, which made Mickey think that maybe for a smart person, Gallagher was fucking stupid. But then he'd known that for years, he'd known that since Ian had been willing to fuck him the second time and had tried to bring emotions and bullshit into it. _That_ had been the stupidest move ever.

But then, Mickey couldn't talk. He held the fucking trophy for stupidest moves ever made. One high up on his list had happened right where he was standing.

"Because you're off to get your fucking ass shot off in the fucking army," Mickey said, wishing his words didn't come out like some sort of high-strung bark that made Ian look at him like he was losing his fucking mind. Maybe he was. He blamed Gallagher.

A small frown creased the skin in between Ian's eyebrows. "I didn't know it bothered her that much," Ian said, rubbing the back of his neck and Mickey barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because Ian was so close to overtaking him on the stupidity scales. Because apparently, Ian still didn't fucking see that Mandy was in love with him.

That fact almost made Mickey feel guilty because. . . well just because, but they didn't need to go into that.

"Yeah well it does," Mickey said, scratching his stomach and shifting uncomfortably, "So you're not fucking going."

And there, he'd done it. He'd gone and said it for Mandy, to protect Mandy's stupid little heart. For his sister. Not because he had any desire to see Ian stick around or anything. Nope, it had definitely been for Mandy.

Ian's face lit up in surprise, but it wasn't a good sort of surprise because a few seconds after his expression twisted into one of rage and complete and utter disbelief. Apparently he wasn't following Mickey's logic here and for someone who wanted to join the army, he wasn't that good at taking orders. Because that had definitely been an order. Ian wasn't going, that was that. Simple as.

Typically, Gallagher decided to complicate matters by opening his fucking mouth.

"Are you actually fucking serious?" he asked, his voice higher than it usually was, which shouldn't have done anything for Mickey at all. For some reason it did. "You're really going to try and tell me what I can and can't do?"

Mickey had a pretty good idea that the expression on his face effectively said, "_Duh_!"

"I'm not having you break my fucking baby sister's heart, Gallagher," he snapped, cracking his knuckles because he needed something to do with his hands, "So just get that bullshit army idea out of your fucking head and we won't have a problem."

In hindsight, he supposed he hadn't going about phrasing it the right way. Probably. But it wasn't like he could take the words back. Mickey was good, but he wasn't that fucking good.

Ian looked like he was close to choking on his own oxygen or something what with the expression on his face. It was actually sort of funny, except the ill feeling in the bottom of Mickey's stomach stopped him from laughing. "You are so fucking full of yourself," Ian practically growled at him and Mickey's eyes almost crossed at how low his voice got. It was high one minute, low the next and Mickey's dick couldn't decide which one it favoured.

"If Mandy had such big concerns about me going to WestPoint, she would have fucking come and told me them herself, not sent you," he said and the look in his eyes was bordering on dangerous. It was hot. "This doesn't have a fucking thing to do with Mandy!"

But because Ian was so fucking clueless, he wouldn't see that Mandy loved him, that she had decided a long time ago that she loved him too much to shatter his dreams. Mickey had no such qualms, he wondered what that said. Probably just that he was a dick and freakishly selfish.

Mickey scoffed. "Well why don't you fucking enlighten us Doctor Phil, because I don't know what the fuck else this would be about?" he clenched and unclenched his fists down by his side, really wanting that feeling in his stomach to stop, "Who the fuck else do you think this would be about?"

Except they both already knew the answer to that question. Mickey pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth and prayed Gallagher wouldn't have the balls to answer.

Ian walked around the side of the counter and squared up to Mickey, making Mickey feel even smaller as he was forced to look up to glare at the redhead. "I think this is about you not having the fucking balls to be able to admit that actually, it's you that doesn't want me to go," he smirked at Mickey like the ex-con was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, "This is about you not having any fucking balls."

Mickey moved on instinct, slamming his hands into Ian's chest and forcing him back against the door to the store. He pressed a forearm against Ian's chest and put a hand over his mouth, baring his teeth in a way that was completely feral and would have scared the shit out of anyone else. Ian just stared at him.

"Fuck you," he snarled, his face so close to Ian's that his breath was hitting the back of his own hand and their noses were practically touching, "I am not a fucking coward." Except that was a lie, because he was. He was the biggest coward in the world and they both knew it, they could see it in his eyes.

"What the fuck is it you want me to say Gallagher?" he asked, hardly even listening to himself speak anymore, because he was running off his own pain now. It felt like it was the only thing keeping him alive. It was eating him up inside. Killing him slowly. That look in Ian's eyes, it was sealing his own fate. It was all Ian's fault. It had always been all Ian's fault, because nobody else could make Mickey give that much of a shit.

"You want me to tell you that you're right? You want me to say I'm a coward and that I'm so fucking scared of getting killed by my Dad that I'll do anything. That I'm so fucking scared of him that I'll make you hate me, that I'll kill every single fucking person who finds out, just so I don't have to die by his hands?"

He didn't want to meet Ian's eyes anymore, but he couldn't look away. And Ian couldn't say a fucking word because Mickey's hand was still clamped across his mouth, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"You want me to tell you that?" he asked, pressing himself more against Ian now for no reason at all other than for some reason it felt like this was what he'd been craving. Feeling Ian's flesh hot under his hands, all hard muscle and warm skin and fucking stupid freckles. "Or do you want me to start spouting emotional bullshit, like how I didn't mean a fucking word I said before I went to Juvie and that I love you and don't want you to go because it makes me feel sick to think of you dying over in some other country?"

He wanted to swallow his own tongue to shut himself up, but he couldn't because he was on a fucking roll. And that look in Ian's eyes was starting to soften now, with everything he said and Mickey hated that he wanted it to soften all the way. He hated that he wanted Ian to look at him like he'd used to, to go all doe eyed and sappy looking.

"That what you want to hear Gallagher?" he asked, pressing his forehead against Ian's and closing his eyes for a moment before jerking back again, "Would that make you stay?" Because the situation was completely fucked up, just like Mickey's head, but even he knew that that was the most important question he had probably ever asked. Because making Ian Gallagher stay, making him choose to fucking _live_ was the most important thing.

Because Mickey wouldn't admit it, but he wasn't sure he knew how to function anymore without Gallagher. He knew how fucking gay and stupid that was, but Mickey didn't lie about the really really important things and he wasn't going to fucking lie about that. Not to himself anyway.

Ian's hand lifted and wrapped around Mickey's wrist and slowly he peeled his fingers away from Ian's mouth, but he didn't step back. He didn't put any distance between them and Ian didn't seem to want it given the way he grabbed the sides of Mickey's head, hard.

"You are such a fucking asshole," he said, but the insult was ruined by the fact that he said it breathlessly, his lips stretched into an incredulous sort of smile, "You're seriously fucking asking me to give up my dream and my chance to get out, _for_ _you_?"

Mickey really wished he hadn't made that sound so insulting, even if it was reasonable. "Yeah," he said simply, since there was no fucking point in starting lying now and besides Ian was so close to him he'd probably be able to smell the lie on Mickey's breath.

Ian snorted out a laugh and rolled his eyes. "You're so fucking full of yourself," Ian said, but Mickey forgot those words when Ian dragged him closer. And considering there wasn't much closer they could get, it only meant one thing. Ian Gallagher fucking _kissed him_.

He stood there frozen for a few seconds, but then he figured that since this was what Gallagher had been waiting for, this was quite a good way to convinced the idiot to stick around. To stay with Mickey. So he put everything he had into that kiss, attacking Ian's mouth with a desperation that he hoped to God that Ian couldn't taste, or even worse feel. He forced Ian back against the door so nobody could come in even if they fucking wanted to. He fisted the redhead's shirt in his hands and Ian's fingers pushed into his hair and held him tight.

It was vicious and brutal and bordering on painful, with the battle of tongues and the clash of teeth and split lip Mickey had forgotten he had re-opening. He did his very best to shove his tongue down Ian's throat so far the guy couldn't think about anything else.

"Mickey," the redhead breathed his name against his mouth when they pulled apart only ever so slightly, their lips still actually touching. He sounded like he was begging, his hands still tugging on Mickey's hair and his eyes searching for something in Mickey's that the ex-con didn't know how to let him find. "Come with me?"

The question was asked on a breath, like Ian was afraid to ask it. Like he was afraid of Mickey and he thought that was fucking stupid, because Ian was the only one who never had to be afraid of him. Ian was the only one who could say that. Mickey would rather chop of his own arm than hurt Ian, because he'd seen that fucking heartbroken face once and he didn't want to see it again.

"Don't really think they let you into the army with a criminal record like mine, Firecrotch," Mickey said and it felt like it was on the same breath. Because they were close enough that they were breathing each other's air, tasting each other's words. It made Mickey's heart ache in his chest.

"So just come to New York then," Ian said, his fingers pressing against Mickey's scalp, like he was trying to leave a permanent imprint of himself there. Mickey thought it was fucking gay how little he would have minded that. "Just don't leave me, just come with me."

And Mickey hated the edge to Ian's voice because it was undoing him at the seams. But then he'd always been able to do that with nothing but a look. Ever since that first time. Mickey didn't know how to deal with it, but he knew he hated that edge to Ian's voice. He knew at that moment he would have given him anything he wanted.

Which was the only reason he didn't point out that Ian was the one choosing to leave, not him. The idea of Ian leaving was making him feel sick, but the thought of following him didn't scare him as much as it should have.

"Okay," he muttered back, so quiet that if they hadn't been standing so close, Ian wouldn't have a clue he'd spoken.

The smile that broke out across Ian's face was definitely worth the aching in his heart and the fact that right then he wanted to set himself on fire, because he wasn't used to talking about anything even slightly related to feelings.

"You're still paying for your Snickers bars though," Ian said and Mickey knew it was completely intentional that the redhead pressed their crotches together right as he said, "And I love you too by the way." Mickey would have swallowed his tongue if Ian hadn't sucked it into his own mouth at that moment.

Because yep, the situation was fucked. Utterly, completely and irreversibly. But Mickey couldn't bring himself to give a shit.


End file.
